Al waited for over a year for a new liver. Towards the end of the wait, his kidneys shut down. He went on dialysis and was added to the list for a new kidney.
An appropriate liver turned up early this week. So did an appropriate kidney. His family was told that his surgery was "textbook classic". That's good news.
Pray for Al's successful recovery. Pray for his caretaker wife, Pat. Pray for all recent transplant patients.
Give thanks for those who register as organ donors.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
A Rant on Garbage
I always assumed Hawaii was an environmentally friendly state. After all, it's a miniscule land mass surrounded by a very large ocean. Both land and water are to be respected, protected, honored. That's the Hawaiian way. It's apparently not the way of non-Hawaiian decision-makers who live in Hawaii.
I worked in a position where I got up close and personal with sewage treatment facilities. Even the little kit-built plants we operated on the Hetchy treated at least to the secondary level, some to the tertiary level. Statewide, the large plants all treat to the tertiary level -- discharging water that is not drinkable, but appropriate for golf course and other non-food irrigation. Some treated solid waste is used as fertilizer.
Officials in Honolulu are outraged that the EPA is demanding the City upgrades to secondary treatment. That means they can no longer discharge water back into the environment after skimming off the floaty stuff, then settling out 50% of the solids and 25-40% of something called biochemical oxygen demand.
My father left an assortment of prescription drugs, which he hated taking. My parents shared a primary care physician, who prescribed most of those drugs. He has told my mom that she can take one of them as needed. There are a bunch of other drugs we need to get rid of.
The Honolulu garbage disposal website, opala.org, says that liquid medications should be poured down the drain. Pills go into the regular garbage. Taped closed to discourage children from opening the containers.
I cringe. Anything that goes down the drain ends up in the sewer. Wreaks havoc in the treatment plants. But not in Honolulu. Those beasties sensitive to chemicals in the system are used in secondary treatment. They don't do secondary treatment here.
One medication in particular is a testosterone-based gel. It comes in little foil packets. A man can overdose by using too many packets in one day. The package label and the package insert warn in several places that this product should NOT be handled by females.
The box is now in the garbage can, securely taped and double bagged. Vicoden, methodone, and other pills popular in illegal drug circles go into the same garbage can. There is no option.
Someone in California suggested that pill containers should be opened and the contents poured into plastic bags filled with used kitty litter! Puppy poop would be equally effective.
Give thanks for those who think before disposing of potentially hazardous materials, from lei string and those plastic things that hold together cans and bottles in the market, to fluorescent light tubes and used batteries and disposable diapers.
Don't forget to pray ....
I worked in a position where I got up close and personal with sewage treatment facilities. Even the little kit-built plants we operated on the Hetchy treated at least to the secondary level, some to the tertiary level. Statewide, the large plants all treat to the tertiary level -- discharging water that is not drinkable, but appropriate for golf course and other non-food irrigation. Some treated solid waste is used as fertilizer.
Officials in Honolulu are outraged that the EPA is demanding the City upgrades to secondary treatment. That means they can no longer discharge water back into the environment after skimming off the floaty stuff, then settling out 50% of the solids and 25-40% of something called biochemical oxygen demand.
My father left an assortment of prescription drugs, which he hated taking. My parents shared a primary care physician, who prescribed most of those drugs. He has told my mom that she can take one of them as needed. There are a bunch of other drugs we need to get rid of.
The Honolulu garbage disposal website, opala.org, says that liquid medications should be poured down the drain. Pills go into the regular garbage. Taped closed to discourage children from opening the containers.
I cringe. Anything that goes down the drain ends up in the sewer. Wreaks havoc in the treatment plants. But not in Honolulu. Those beasties sensitive to chemicals in the system are used in secondary treatment. They don't do secondary treatment here.
One medication in particular is a testosterone-based gel. It comes in little foil packets. A man can overdose by using too many packets in one day. The package label and the package insert warn in several places that this product should NOT be handled by females.
The box is now in the garbage can, securely taped and double bagged. Vicoden, methodone, and other pills popular in illegal drug circles go into the same garbage can. There is no option.
Someone in California suggested that pill containers should be opened and the contents poured into plastic bags filled with used kitty litter! Puppy poop would be equally effective.
Give thanks for those who think before disposing of potentially hazardous materials, from lei string and those plastic things that hold together cans and bottles in the market, to fluorescent light tubes and used batteries and disposable diapers.
Don't forget to pray ....
Friday, November 12, 2010
A Tribute to a Waterman
I knew the Malia was coming. The Malia, 60+ year old koa canoe, the first Waikiki Surf Club canoe to make the annual 41-mile race across the Ka'iwi Channel between Moloka'i and Oahu, the club's pride, the beauty who seldom now is used because she so precious. Just having the Malia present was a special honor.
I didn't know that there would be four canoes, three with a full complement of club paddlers, three club paddlers on the Malia and seats for those who would carry and spread the ashes. They were magnificent, those canoes in the red and gold of the club my dad was instrumental in founding, setting off the distinctive koa hull of the Malia, trimmed in red, paddlers in their team shirts of gold and red.
I knew that the NaDu K2, the 27-foot fishing boat my dad owned for 40 years, would be one of the escorts, courtesy of the Waikiki Yacht Club. I knew that the Waikiki Surft Club would bring their own escort boat. I didn't know that Pat, who often fished with my dad, would be there with his own boat, the True Grit, and several other men who fished with them over the years.
The little fleet of a dozen or so tiny sailboats in the harbor the channel may or may not have been a planned part of the parade, but they waited as we passed, led by the Malia, then joined us out through the channel, beyond the surfing lanes, where the canoes formed a circle. The rest circled around the canoes.
Both my children, my parents' only grandchildren, were here to honor their grandfather. They were in the Malia, as was our half-sister, Jackie. Together they shared the task of spreading the ashes. Then came the flowers. So many flowers in so many colors, all loose to protect the ocean environment and to honor a man who loved this ocean. The canoes made one more pass, then headed back to shore. The power boats circled twice, then followed the canoes back to the harbor.
There must have been about 40 folk in addition to the paddlers who came to honor and bid farewell to this man who had touched their lives. There were neighbors, past and present. There were fishing buddies and business associates. Dennis flew in from Southern California for the day. Christie came from Seattle, also for the day. There were a handful of surfing legends present, folk who and worked with my dad in building the Waikiki Surf Club. Mark, the surfing historian and surf board collector, came. So did Sandy, the writer, who came to know my dad as she was writing a biography of Duke Kahanamoku. Cousins from my mother's side of the family were there. So were close friends of my brother and sister-in-law, and some of my own friends from Daughters of Hawaii. There was a generous buffet table and beverages courtesy of the Waikiki Yacht Club, and an open bar.
When my father went into nursing care, he transitioned over to an MD who routinely visits the nursing homes in Honolulu. As it happens, he lives next door to one of my co-volunteers at Daughters of Hawaii. I've occasionally laughed and said to Pili, "If I have trouble reaching the doc, I'll just ask you to go next door and leave a note on his front door!" I was touched when Pili offered a box of flowers from her own garden. "The orchids are courtesy of Dr. Johnson's garden." her note told us. I had to smile.
One more time. Good-bye, Daddy. Be at peace.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Megan
Not my granddaughter Meghan, who is a delightful and bright young woman in her own right. As is her big sister Katie.
This Megan is the daughter of one of Tuolumne County's judges. I knew her parents "way back when" in another lifetime. Visited with her dad occasionally when I was working in Sonora and in and out of the courthouse on a regular basis. Haven't seen her mom in many years. Both Megan's parents are the kind of people who hang around in the recesses of memory, people who have (or will) touch your life in some significant way.
Megan passed away early this morning. She had acute myeloid anemia. It was diagnosed as she was delivering her first child. Her daughter is just 4 months old.
This Megan is the daughter of one of Tuolumne County's judges. I knew her parents "way back when" in another lifetime. Visited with her dad occasionally when I was working in Sonora and in and out of the courthouse on a regular basis. Haven't seen her mom in many years. Both Megan's parents are the kind of people who hang around in the recesses of memory, people who have (or will) touch your life in some significant way.
Megan passed away early this morning. She had acute myeloid anemia. It was diagnosed as she was delivering her first child. Her daughter is just 4 months old.
I learned about Megan's diagnosis through a Facebook post by a mutual friend. Hundreds of others must have learned about Megan a similar way -- through word of mouth and from social networking by friends and friends of friends. Today, there are literally thousands of voices all over the world lifted in continuing prayers for Megan and her family. Her short life, her struggles, her bravery, the love of the family members for each other, their commitment to their faith and the commitment of their friends, are all powerfully present in the many postings on Facebook and through the blog maintained by Megan's husband.
If, after reading or hearing Megan's story, you are inspired to reach out in faith, to pray, to invest some time in social action or interaction, to hug someone, then Megan has touched your life. She continues to make a difference, one life at a time. She continues to live in the hearts of those she touches.
Give thanks for Megan's life. Pray for Ryan, Rylee, Megan's parents and for her siblings. Go into the world. Make a difference in someone else's life. For you. For Megan.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Baby Steps toward Recovery
A week? Is that all? It seems like forever since my dad passed. Forever ago, yet not. I can still stop in that awful parking lot at Oahu Care, trek up to the 3rd floor, clean laundry in a bag over my right shoulder. ... No, we're beyond that now.
Dealt with the mortuary. Cleared away his personal possessions from Oahu Care Facility. Saw the trust attorney. Received some cards. Took one small box to the thrift shop.
Answered numerous questions about "When are services?" with "Still pending".
Still need to pick up the ashes.
On the home front, nothing has changed. Those changes happened two years ago when he was moved into permanent care. My mother has filled what for so many years was His Room with her overflow of boxes, books, notebooks, and papers, stuff. It is the master bedroom, but no longer a bedroom. Just a catch-all place.
Paper grocery bags are filled and marked. Salvation Army. Goodwill. Thrift Shop. Friends of the Library. Then heaped in His Room, since there is more to go into each bag. There is always more. My frustration level rises.
I remember how hard it is to part with many things belonging to Ray. Open closet. Look. Shed a tear. Close closet. Can't do this yet. Open drawer. Remove object. Handle it, cherish it, remember. More tears. Return it to its place. Shut drawer. Can't do this either. I understand that heap of bags and boxes.
The time will come. I have to believe.
My brother and I will talk later today about a memorial for our father. Our mother says that should be when we scatter the ashes. She doesn't want to do anything that suggests having a party. No food.
The Church makes this end of life so much easier, both physically and spiritually. Call the office. Talk with my priest. Schedule a service. Choose readings. Add hymns as desired. Draw comfort from the liturgy and the continuity assured us by our faith. Stand awe-struck by the number of friends who have come to share this time. Know that the ladies of the church will be there to take care of everything connected with food, from set-up to clean-up. It magically happens. At least it does in small towns. For friends.
Closure. The numbness wears off eventually. Recovery begins.
Give thanks for the memories. They add color and vibrancy to our life.
Pray for the souls of those who have gone on. Pray for those left behind.
Hug someone you love.
Dealt with the mortuary. Cleared away his personal possessions from Oahu Care Facility. Saw the trust attorney. Received some cards. Took one small box to the thrift shop.
Answered numerous questions about "When are services?" with "Still pending".
Still need to pick up the ashes.
On the home front, nothing has changed. Those changes happened two years ago when he was moved into permanent care. My mother has filled what for so many years was His Room with her overflow of boxes, books, notebooks, and papers, stuff. It is the master bedroom, but no longer a bedroom. Just a catch-all place.
Paper grocery bags are filled and marked. Salvation Army. Goodwill. Thrift Shop. Friends of the Library. Then heaped in His Room, since there is more to go into each bag. There is always more. My frustration level rises.
I remember how hard it is to part with many things belonging to Ray. Open closet. Look. Shed a tear. Close closet. Can't do this yet. Open drawer. Remove object. Handle it, cherish it, remember. More tears. Return it to its place. Shut drawer. Can't do this either. I understand that heap of bags and boxes.
The time will come. I have to believe.
My brother and I will talk later today about a memorial for our father. Our mother says that should be when we scatter the ashes. She doesn't want to do anything that suggests having a party. No food.
The Church makes this end of life so much easier, both physically and spiritually. Call the office. Talk with my priest. Schedule a service. Choose readings. Add hymns as desired. Draw comfort from the liturgy and the continuity assured us by our faith. Stand awe-struck by the number of friends who have come to share this time. Know that the ladies of the church will be there to take care of everything connected with food, from set-up to clean-up. It magically happens. At least it does in small towns. For friends.
Closure. The numbness wears off eventually. Recovery begins.
Give thanks for the memories. They add color and vibrancy to our life.
Pray for the souls of those who have gone on. Pray for those left behind.
Hug someone you love.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Thank you.
To all of you who are expressing your condolences either here or on Facebook in the aftermath of our father's passing, thank you. It is immensely comforting to know that you are out there, reading and caring.
When I came home from the hospital, picked up the laptop, and sat in the dark writing the post made this morning, I was writing for personal therapy. It didn't occur to me that so many of you would read it so quickly. It was barely 8 a.m. in Hawaii when I started the round of calls to mainland family and friends. Without exception, everyone I called had read either my post or my brother's this day, or been contacted by a family member who read it. It makes the world a far more friendly place, and leaves me feeling not quite so alone and adrift.
My mother was more shaken by the news of my dad's death than I had expected. We just never know until an event happens how we -- or another -- will respond. It's tricky not to let those expectations get in the way of appropriate response. To my way of thinking, my mother needs to shed some tears. She is not there yet. She may never be there. Her tears may have been shed years ago.
Whatever the case, Mother is busy making lists, reading the Yellow Pages, still emptying closets, and directing the rest of us in the choices we should be making.
"No." This is used especially when a subject is distasteful to her.
To me, after listening to a conversation between my brother and myself about the canoe paddles in my father's bedroom: "I want the canoe paddle with his grandfather's name on it to go to Kimo, not to some museum."
To my brother the photographer: "Use an obituary picture that looks like he looked recently, like people will remember him. Don't use one from when he was young."
and over our Chinese take-out dinner this evening, "I hope Ian picks out a good picture for the obituary."
Ian, are you getting her message? :-)
Give thanks for the extraordinarily long and influential life of our father, John Montgomery Lind. Give thanks that he was finally able to let go. Don't forget to pray ....
When I came home from the hospital, picked up the laptop, and sat in the dark writing the post made this morning, I was writing for personal therapy. It didn't occur to me that so many of you would read it so quickly. It was barely 8 a.m. in Hawaii when I started the round of calls to mainland family and friends. Without exception, everyone I called had read either my post or my brother's this day, or been contacted by a family member who read it. It makes the world a far more friendly place, and leaves me feeling not quite so alone and adrift.
My mother was more shaken by the news of my dad's death than I had expected. We just never know until an event happens how we -- or another -- will respond. It's tricky not to let those expectations get in the way of appropriate response. To my way of thinking, my mother needs to shed some tears. She is not there yet. She may never be there. Her tears may have been shed years ago.
Whatever the case, Mother is busy making lists, reading the Yellow Pages, still emptying closets, and directing the rest of us in the choices we should be making.
"No." This is used especially when a subject is distasteful to her.
To me, after listening to a conversation between my brother and myself about the canoe paddles in my father's bedroom: "I want the canoe paddle with his grandfather's name on it to go to Kimo, not to some museum."
To my brother the photographer: "Use an obituary picture that looks like he looked recently, like people will remember him. Don't use one from when he was young."
and over our Chinese take-out dinner this evening, "I hope Ian picks out a good picture for the obituary."
Ian, are you getting her message? :-)
Give thanks for the extraordinarily long and influential life of our father, John Montgomery Lind. Give thanks that he was finally able to let go. Don't forget to pray ....
Another Battle Over, Another Warrior Gone
He didn't make it to December 6.
He clung tenaciously to life, difficult though this last month has been.
Good-bye, Daddy. Be at peace.
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